


Afraid of Night

by jill_ian



Category: Actor RPF, Martin and Lewis, Martin and Lewis RPF
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Unrequited Love, or is it???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 17:26:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18056894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jill_ian/pseuds/jill_ian
Summary: Red wasn't always Jerry's favorite color.





	Afraid of Night

The first thing Jerry noticed was the color of her dress.

_Bright red._

The exact same shade he could see behind his eyes every time he thought about her.

That girl in the front row.

Few things were kept constant in their shows. Their scripts were skeletons, basic outlines they could run back to if they got lost, but open enough that they had the ability to stray and mess around. It kept the comedy from feeling stale and the two of them from feeling bored of the material, being that they were doing it three or four times a night almost every night of the week.

For all the freedom, however, Dean had something he had done pretty much every show since they first met. They were back in Atlantic City after almost two years as a team and here he was proving that some things really never changed.

He would find a pretty girl almost immediately, single her out, and sing to her for most of the act.

Sometimes that’s where it would start and end. Sometimes he would find her after the show and buy her a drink. Sometimes she would find him, giddy and nervous.

And then there were times he’d take her back to the hotel.

Those were the nights Jerry would stay late at the club, drinking an extra whiskey or two. He wouldn’t bother calling a cab when he was ready to leave, opting instead to walk no matter the weather. He’d take the long way back, hands stuffed in his pockets and head ducked low, staring at the sidewalk beneath his clumsy feet. He’d stumble into their room well after the sun came up, exhausted and slightly nauseous, falling into bed and squeezing his eyes shut tight before he could see Dean.

It had been a while since he’d had to do that. So long that he almost forgot the knots that would coil in his stomach when he saw a girl making eyes at Dean the way this one was.

As always, Jerry watched him sing from behind the curtain, but it wasn’t long before his attention shifted from Dean to the lucky girl he’d chosen tonight. Dean was barely midway through the first of his songs and he already had her wrapped around his finger.

Jerry knew all the signs. The batting of her eyelashes. The hands folded delicately in her lap. The shy smile gracing her lips; the one that made it seem like she wanted everyone to know just how embarrassed she was to be singled out. The twinkle in her eyes that gave away that she was secretly loving every second of it.

By the time he finished the second song, she was openly acknowledging the attention, chin up and angled towards the stage, smile favoring one side of her mouth to the other. Her cheeks were flushed rosy pink against her pale skin, face framed by dirty blonde hair falling in tight waves down to her shoulders, all contrasted perfectly by her gorgeous red dress.

At the end of the third song, Dean was at the edge of the stage, leaning forward ever so slightly, big hand curled around the microphone, dark eyes glittering with something mischievous. She had one elbow on her table, cheek pillowed by her palm, completely mesmerized.

Jerry was still watching her while he waited for the applause to die down. He always went out after the third song to start the next piece of the act, but suddenly, he couldn’t move. It was almost like there was cement in his shoes. Or maybe there were nails hammered through the soles. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his throat was so tight that he felt like he was breathing through a straw. The mental image of walking over to Dean, opening his mouth, and having nothing come out flashed through his mind, terrifying and vivid enough to make his heart rack against his ribs.

His panic had taken over so strongly that he didn’t notice the way the audience had fallen quiet, nor did he notice the way Dean had moved back to the middle of the stage, head turning to both sides as he waited for Jerry to emerge from his place in the wings.

Jerry’s gaze was trained on red, smooth as silk and burning his eyes.

He was only shaken from his thoughts when he heard Dean’s voice ringing in his ears, breaking the thick silence. “Well, there’s normally two of us the rest of the night, but you might’ve noticed I’m down a partner.” He paused for a second. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, the kid did leave me note in our dressing room. Said, _‘I’m packing up and shipping out after I introduce your songs tonight.’_ You think that meant something?” That earned him some well-deserved laughs from an audience he was beginning to win over on his own. “Who needs him anyway? I guess while I’ve got you here, I’ll just sing, oh I don’t know, 40 or 50 more songs and then you folks can be on your way.”

He asked the band to surprise him with a song and Dick cued them, the room echoing with the opening notes of something they knew Dean would recognize. As he took a deep breath in to get ready for the first few words, Jerry was grateful that his legs carried him out onto the stage before his brain could talk him out of it.

The band came to an abrupt halt and Dean turned to him slowly, putting his hands on his hips and looking at him as though he was waiting for an explanation. Jerry shriveled in on himself, giving him a weak, innocent smile as he inched closer, limp wrists crossed over his chest.

The silent exchange broke the audience up and after a quick back and forth about what took so long for Jerry to find his way out, they continued on like normal. They always had a way of convincing everyone that these types of accidents were planned and after years of practice, the gag they spun out of Jerry’s mistake probably worked better than the joke they were going to do anyway.

But Jerry knew better than anyone when he was off his game and tonight, he was _off._ He could feel it in his bones.

What was even worse, or perhaps even better, was that Dean had noticed, too. Jerry had only slipped on one line when he watched Dean’s eyebrows pinch, something that would have gone entirely unnoticed by anyone other than Jerry. He made a smooth recovery and saved himself, but he wasn’t so lucky the next time he looked out at the audience and his eyes landed on red, causing an almost immediate fumble in his words. He tried like hell to retreat on the mistake, but his mind went blank, abandoning him and the millisecond of silence that followed could have killed him.

Dean stepped in to save him before he even had to throw a panicked look in his direction.

He was thankful beyond words that Dean took the lead the rest of the night. Jerry acted mostly as the straight man while Dean took more of the comic role. The audience ate it up, most of them were unaware of just how funny Dean could be when he stepped out into the spotlight, but it was clear that they loved every surprising, unexpected second of it.

Jerry did his very best not to look out at the audience the entire time they were on, a far cry from the absurd amount of direct interaction he would normally have. Instead, he found himself looking straight at Dean or back at the band or out towards the wings. If he did have to look out, he chose to lock his eyes onto the blanket of black that covered the crowd at a certain point near the back of the room, not wanting to see faces.

He especially did not want to see a splash of red in the front attentively watching their every move.

It was bad enough that his heightened attention to what was happening _on_ stage, rather than off, made it very clear that Dean was looking directly at her whenever he’d face the audience, eyes obviously low. He almost lost his cool when Dean worked in a joke about a pretty blonde and winked at her. He damn near stormed off the stage completely when Dean asked the audience a question and tilted the microphone towards her out of everyone for the answer.

When they took their final bows after their ninety minutes were up, Jerry wanted to say that he felt like he could breathe again. He wished he could say walking backstage had brought him the relief he was craving. However, all hopes of that were ruined when the voice in the back of his head told him the next few hours of hanging around the club were probably going to make the night a lot worse for him before it could get better.

He thought his desperation had reached its peak when they were in their dressing room changing back into their street suits. It was mostly silent while they got ready. Jerry almost preferred it that way after how disastrous a night it had been for him and he loved the fact that Dean knew better than to bring it up unless he did first.

But he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt nerves ripping his insides apart like this.

His hands were trembling so badly that he struggled to do up the front of his shirt, the buttons slipping from his fingers every time he tried to push one of them through. Frustration found him gritting his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose.

The only other noise in the room was the sound of Dean’s upbeat humming as he did up his own buttons.

He flew through them like a professional.

As Jerry finished and sat on a couch in the corner, he made the mistake of wondering what could possibly have Dean so chipper and instantly regretted it when that spark of red flashed behind his eyes.

The ache in his chest grew painfully tight as he watched Dean get himself ready in the mirror, spraying on a fresh wave of his cologne. The strong scent filled Jerry’s nose and any other night, it would’ve given him butterflies. Tonight though, it made his stomach turn.

He needed to try to stop this. He knew how unbelievably pathetic it was of him to want to do so, but he also knew he was desperate now. He never had the ability to tame his emotions before, especially not the ones that caused him pain. This was no exception.

He sighed loudly, purposefully dramatic and doing his very best to draw attention to himself. He allowed a small twinge of pride to bleed through his anxiety when Dean smiled at the sound.

“Somebody stick a pin in ya?” he asked, capping his Woodhue and putting it back down on the vanity.

“Yeah. _That show._ ” He sighed again, this time a little more sincerely. “Really knocked it out of me, boy.” He tried to sound as casual as he possibly could, but his cautious eyes were locked on Dean’s reflection in the mirror.

“Me too, but we made it through alright.” Dean moved on to fixing his hair now, combing it back and off to one side like always.

“You made it through alright,” Jerry corrected. “I was flopping around worse than a dyin’ fish.” He pulled at his bottom lip, contorting his next few words. “See? Wasn’t a pin. That’s where the hook caught me.”

“Yeah well at least they threw you back instead of making you the main course,” Dean laughed, entirely too light for Jerry to enjoy. “You’re entitled to a tough night, kid.”

_Kid._

The word, which he knew was meant as a term of endearment and was usually taken as such, made him want to scream. He blinked hard, pushing the impulse down before it could claw its way out.

“I guess,” he conceded. He waited a careful beat, sitting up a little straighter. “You gonna look for any trouble tonight?”

Dean’s smile grew. “Don’t know if I’d call her trouble.”

_Her._

_Red._

Jerry tried to swallow the lump in his throat, unable to fake a laugh around it at the joke. He chose to ignore the comment instead.

“I might not stay out there too long. Kinda wanna head in early so tomorrow night might be better.” His eyes were pleading silently with Dean’s reflection to take the bait. He would give his left leg right about now for Dean to understand the hint and offer to leave early with him.

But of course the universe was not in Jerry’s favor tonight and what Dean said instead was, “I won’t stop ya. I know you’re tired,” and the air was, once again, squeezed from Jerry’s lungs.

He closed his mouth tight, forcing his lips into what he knew was a pained and disingenuous smile, if only to keep from saying something he’d regret.

His watched as Dean gave himself one last look in the mirror, his eyes raking up and down his reflection to check for any sign of imperfection, shockingly still. But then his eyes settled somewhere around his neck and after a second of contemplation, he undid the top two buttons on his shirt.

Jerry’s stomach sunk impossibly lower.

Dean turned to face him. “What do you think? Sharp?” He asked, throwing him his most charming smile.

Jerry tried not to let his smile falter as he nodded. “Real sharp.”

“Aces, pally.” He walked over to the couch “Let’s go.”

His hand went to Jerry’s shoulder, hand balling in his jacket and tugging him up. Jerry stood and Dean’s arm looped around his shoulders, leading them through the door and back out into the club.

When they paused at the edge of the room, he looked at Dean out of the corner of his eye and it was obvious that he was scanning the crowd. But as quickly as they stopped, they were moving again and the surprise of it made Jerry shift his attention back forward, wondering where they were going. It was almost like Dean was walking them towards a table near the bar.

Jerry’s eyes landed quickly on her.

On _red._

Without thinking, he tried to pull himself out from under Dean’s arm, but his hold on his shoulders tightened.

“Where you going?” Dean asked, confused.

“Wanted to get a drink.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

“You can just order one at the table.”

What was left of his smile, or rather, his grimace, dropped completely. “At the table?”

“Yeah, you know. That thing you sit down in front of? That you can put stuff on?”

“Guess I’ve heard of that,” Jerry mumbled.

He stared at the floor the rest of the way over.

He only looked up when they stopped, finally within arm’s length of the girl in the red dress. She was facing away from them, unaware that they were behind her until Dean spoke.

“Ma’am?” He called out, that lazy Southern lilt pulling attractively at his voice.

She was already smiling when she turned to face them. She was even prettier up close than she had been from the stage.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked politely.

“Yeah actually,” he started. “Y’see, I wanna buy a drink for a beautiful girl.”

“And you want me to introduce you to someone?” she offered.

“I want you to tell me what I can get you.”

Even her blush was prettier up close. Jerry’s hands balled into fists at his sides.

She tucked a long strand of hair that had fallen out of place back behind her ear. “I wouldn’t say no to a martini.”

“You got it.”

Dean pulled over a passing waiter, ordering a martini for her and a whiskey each for him and Jerry. The waiter went over to the bar and Dean turned back to the table, where she was still smiling up at him.

“Well thank you for that,” she said, positively radiating how pleased she was.

“Glad to do it. I’m Dean, by the way.” He stuck his hand out to her and she took it in hers, shaking it slowly.

“Mary.”

Jerry was too focused on the way her hand had lingered in his to notice the way she was looking expectedly at him now.

Dean decided to speak for him. “This is my pal, Jer.”

Jerry just stared at her, unmoving until Dean nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. He stuck his hand out wordlessly and gave hers a firm shake, the same way he might do to a club owner he didn’t quite get along with. It was not the kind of handshake suited for meeting a pretty girl.

“Nice to meet you.” She sounded genuine enough, but he still wasn’t having it.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to reciprocate the sentiment as he dropped her hand.

“Mind if we sit?” Dean asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Not at all.” She gestured to the empty chairs on one side of her.

Dean stepped forward first, taking the seat right next to her and Jerry took the seat next to him when his brain caught up.

Dean started to speak, but it didn’t register in Jerry’s mind as anything other than a soft buzz in his ear, in one and out the other before the words could be processed. When the pitch of the buzz raised, he knew it meant she was answering, but he didn’t allow himself to listen any more than that. He wasn’t the biggest fan of small talk on the best of days, making the thought of it on a day like this borderline repulsive.

Jerry couldn’t control the impatience gnawing at his resolve. He tapped on the table with his pointer finger, watching the water jump in the glass next to his hand. He had to cross his ankles under the table to keep his leg from bouncing, too. It would’ve sent him through the roof.

He tried his very best to stare at anything that wasn’t either of them, but every so often his eyes would stray up and land on red. This time, it wasn’t the red of her dress that held his attention. It was her lipstick, vibrant against her pale skin and entirely too perfect to have been worn all night. She had probably reapplied having expected something like this to happen.

She had expected Dean to come find her.

Something kicked in Jerry’s chest.

After a couple minutes of Jerry blatantly ignoring their idle chatter, the waiter returned with a tray to deliver their drinks. Dean and Mary let him put theirs down on the table, but Jerry took his right out of the waiter’s hand, put it back in one go, and handed him back the empty glass.

“Can I get another one?” He could already feel the whiskey burning warm in his stomach.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter nodded, putting the glass back on the tray and walking away.

When he turned his attention back to the table, Dean was watching him with a tight smile, eyes narrowed quizzically at him. “What?” Jerry asked.

Dean just stared at him for a long second before he shook his head slowly. “Nothing.” He turned back to Mary. “So, how’d you like the show?”

“Oh, I loved it.” She brought her drink up to her lips, taking a dainty sip.

“Good,” Dean beamed. “What was your favorite part?”

She pursed her lips as she thought to herself. “I think I might have to say your second song.”

“’Course you would,” Jerry mumbled. Dean stepped on his foot so hard that he had to bite his lip to hold in a yelp. Mary’s face didn’t give any sign as to whether or not she’d caught any of it.

“You know, that might be the first time anybody’s said one of my songs was their favorite.”

Jerry flinched, knowing for a fact he’d told Dean more than once how much he loved standing backstage and watching him sing.

“I think that’s a shame,” she said, her voice laced with something sympathetic.

“Could be, but I’ll keep warm knowing you liked it.”

Jerry rolled his eyes, though he felt the knots in his stomach coiling again.

The waiter came back and placed his glass down on the table before he could grab it from him again. The moment he walked away, Jerry picked it up and took a small sip, the alcohol cutting at the back of his throat.

“You know, I’ve heard rumors you fellas are gonna get a picture deal.”

“More than a rumor actually. There’s a couple different studios that’ve called us up to talk about contracts.” Dean nudged his shoulder against Jerry’s. “Ain’t that right, Jer?”

“Uh huh,” he hummed, disinterested in being brought into the conversation.

She threw a smile in Jerry’s direction. “That’s awfully exciting,”

“Sure is.” He brought his whiskey back up to his lips, speaking around his glass. “For _us._ ” _Not for you_ was left unspoken, but the implication of it was heard loud and clear. He took a much longer sip this time, welcoming the familiar burn.

Mary’s eyes left his in favor of looking down at her glass. Jerry knew Dean understood what he meant, but he didn’t acknowledge it, choosing to step over it completely.

“If you’re lucky, you might be seeing these cats up on the big screen someday,” Dean said, trying to bring them back to something more positive.

Her sparkling eyes found Dean’s again. “I’d like that very much.”

And then she put her hand on Dean’s arm.

And Dean covered her hand with his.

Jerry, not so discreetly, threw back the rest of his drink, wincing and inhaling sharply.

He was done with this. Done with her. Done with Dean. Done with the conversation. Done with the way she was looking at him. Done with what he knew was the next step in all of this.

He felt an angry heat prickling in his cheeks.

He needed to get away. If he stayed here much longer, he was going to keep drinking and that would cause him to completely lose what was left of his rapidly fading self-control. He was already struggling enough as it was to bite his tongue and it only had the potential to get worse.

He sat for another minute, waiting for a lull in the conversation to stand up, pushing his chair back with a loud drag against the wood floor.

Dean immediately looked up at him. “What are you doing?”

“M’just going to the bar,” he lied.

“What for?”

“Wanna see if the slob behind the counter knows what time it is,” he said, words dripping with sarcasm.

Dean pushed his jacket sleeve off his wrist to look at his watch and Jerry resisted the urge to slap his hand. “Little past one.”

Aggravation and impatience hit him all at once and he could feel his leg start to shake under him, itching to get away. “Glad we could get that squared off, but I want another drink.”

“Is that the best idea?”

“I don’t know, Ma, is it?”

“Don’t get snippy with me, kid. I don’t want you to get sick is all.”

_Kid._

There he went with that word again.

“I can take care of myself,” Jerry shot back, frowning and smoothing out the front of his shirt. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” Dean sighed, nodding reluctantly at him. “If you say so.”

“I say so.”

Jerry started in the direction of the bar, but when he got halfway there, he turned back towards their table. Dean was talking to Mary again, not paying the slightest bit of attention as to what Jerry was doing or where he was going.

He took that as his opportunity to go for the door.

Dean didn’t have a clue. He trusted him to do as he said and Jerry pushed down the guilt that tugged at his heart when the door slammed with a heavy thud behind him.

He didn’t stop to contemplate what to do next; it didn’t matter where he went so long as he wasn’t here anymore. So, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, put his head down, and headed off down the sidewalk.

The cool October night air cut at his cheeks. He couldn’t feel the chill any more than that, not with a thousand different emotions warming him from the inside. Not to mention the alcohol.

At the corner of the short block, he crossed the street to get to the boardwalk, stretching for what seemed like miles along the coast. Despite the temperature, it was still as busy as it was mid-summer, people hanging out as far as the eye could see.

He kicked a rock while he wandered, back and forth and back again. He wasn’t even sure of the time anymore. At one point, he looked down to check and realized he’d left his watch in their dressing room. The only indicator of how long he’d been doing this was the fact that he could feel his feet starting to hurt.

Lost as he felt wandering aimless and alone, this was sort of what he needed for a while. As long as there were people around, he could let the noise drown out the thoughts screaming in his head. He could pretend like nothing was happening back in the club, that everything was normal and that he wasn’t an arms length away from shattering like glass.

But gradually, it went from crowded, to less so, to even less so, to completely empty. The laughter of happy couples and the screaming of rowdy friends died down into flat silence. The storefront interiors lining the shore dimmed one by one until the only sources of light were the hazy streetlamps and the moon.

With no distractions, his mind drifted back to the club. He could see it all so clearly.

Mary taking the last sip of her drink. Dean standing and pulling her chair out for her. Dean holding her jacket for her as she slipped her arms through it. Mary taking Dean’s outstretched arm, resting her hand in the crook of his elbow. Dean holding the door for her as they walked out. Mary tucking herself into his side to ease the cold.

Jerry shook his head, blinking hard, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them wide.

On one hand, the mental image made him want to take off down the coast, past the end of the boardwalk and past the end of New Jersey all the way until he hit Florida. Even then, the thought of hopping on a boat and stopping once he hit Argentina didn’t sound half bad. He could make a living there. People laughed at silly faces no matter what language they spoke.

On the other hand, the image made him curious. A part of him was almost itching to go back to the club to see if reality matched his imagination.

But he knew he shouldn’t. It didn’t matter whether Dean and Mary were still there or not because was never going to be happy with what he saw.

As he mentally talked himself out of going back, he came to an opening in the boardwalk that led down to the beach itself. He took the easy turn into the sand, not stopping to take off his shoes or his socks. He walked until he was about halfway down to the water before he stopped to lie down. He knew at some point he was going to regret how dirty it was going to make his suit, but the sand was soft beneath his tired body and that was all that mattered.

When he looked up, the stars were bright against the clear, dark sky. Down the sand, he could hear the waves as they broke against the shore with a constant rhythm. It should have been the picture perfect environment for him to find a little peace, but it wasn’t long before his mind was spinning again with unwanted, intrusive thoughts.

The longer he thought about it, the more he resigned himself to the fact that what was bothering him most of all wasn’t that Dean was with a girl. Hell, Jerry had his fair share of long nights with pretty girls. Ever since they had started to blow up, they were constantly surrounded by admirers. Some of those admirers just happened to be sweet girls with coy smiles. It was nice to feel wanted and it felt good to blow off some steam, so why shouldn’t he indulge every now and again?

In that way he understood why Dean did it, too. He had the perfect right to do whatever he wanted and if the opportunity presented itself, he would be crazy not to take it.

Except it wasn’t exactly about any of that.

It was that all those girls knew what Dean’s lips tasted like. Knew what it felt like to have his hands on their skin and his weight pressing against them. Knew what Dean looked like above them, looking down with half lidded eyes and pupils blown wide. Knew the way his breath caught when he tipped over the edge.

He broke off that train of thought by rolling over onto his side, sudden and harsh, pressing his cheek into the course sand.

As if on cue, the breeze from the ocean picked up with a howl and a shiver shot up his spine. He hunched his shoulders and hugged his arms tight to his chest, trying to shield his body from the cold air. He was finally regretting not going back to their dressing room to grab his heavy coat and now more than ever, he prayed for sleep to pull him away from here and out of the cold.

But just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the steady stream of wind began to kick sand up into his face and he swore he could hear the universe laughing.

He closed his tired eyes. This time his mind brought him back to their room and his heart sank at what he could see.

Their clothes scattered on the floor. His broad shoulders, tanned and bare. Her hands on his back, fingers digging into his skin so hard her nails would leave marks. His big hands framing her rosy cheeks. Her bright lipstick on his neck. His hips between her pale thighs.

Jerry pushed the heels of his hands against his eyelids so hard that it hurt.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he muttered to himself, on the verge of begging. He eased the pressure when stars exploded in his vision, fading to nothing but black.

His heart was racing.

He tried taking deep, audible breaths in and out, testing out some trick his doctor had given him for when the stress of working got to be too much and he felt like he was losing control.

The idea was simple: he would breathe in for as long as he could stand, hold it for three seconds, and then slowly release it until his lungs felt empty.

He lost track of how many times he went through the cycle when he got to around thirty. After a while of it, he no longer kept count or thought it through too hard, choosing instead to let his breathing mirror the steady ebb and flow of the waves. He could feel his pulse slowing, no longer pounding so hard that it echoed in his ears.

He hadn’t even known he’d fallen asleep until he heard someone calling out his name.

“Jer?” He felt someone’s hand shaking his shoulder. “Jer, s’at you?”

He mumbled something unintelligible, trying to curl in on himself and will the voice away so that he could sleep more.

But the hand began to shake him again, this time a little harder. “Jerry, come on. You gotta wake up.”

Jerry swatted at the voice. “Go away,” he slurred, words thick with sleep.

“If I go anywhere, it’ll be to get ocean water to dump on your stupid head.”

That did the trick.

A deep breath brought cool, fresh air into his lungs, giving him the energy to roll from his side onto his back. He opened his eyes with a slow squint and the sudden intrusion of harsh morning sunlight made his already aching head pound even worse. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, trying to escape the sun and wipe the sleep from his senses.

His hand stilled, but he created a window by separating his ring finger from his middle finger. He turned his head in the direction of the voice to find Dean sitting cross-legged at his side, staring down at him, eyes wide with concern.

He paused a moment to take in the sight of him. His curls were mussed, falling loosely over his forehead. One side of his shirt collar was tucked beneath a loose-fitting cardigan while the other was up along his neck. He then noticed that one side of the shirt was sitting much higher than the other and his eyes fell instinctively to his buttons, which he wasn’t surprised to see were off by one.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Dean, who was usually so well put together, so disheveled.

With every breath, Jerry could feel his anger dulling, replacing itself with the usual rush of soothing, pleasant warmth he felt whenever Dean was near.

One of them needed to break the ice and Jerry knew it would never be Dean, so he put himself out on the ledge.

“What’s’a matter?” He asked. “Never seen a sleeping boy before?”

Dean just kept staring, folded hands clasped tight on his lap. “Were you out here all night?”

“Didn’t see me back at the room, didja?” The question slipped quickly from his mouth. He didn’t want to be spiteful and the fire behind it was lukewarm at best, a far cry from the white-hot heat burning behind his comments last night. He wanted a new day to wipe the slate clean, but he couldn’t help the leftover animosity.

He was thankful Dean didn’t acknowledge what he’d said. “You told me you were going to get a drink.”

His eyes left Dean’s, unable to look at him now while he lied. “Got there and I wasn’t thirsty anymore.”

“So you left?” Jerry was taken aback by the shake in his voice, usually so smooth and sure, and it forced him to look back at him.

Jerry swallowed hard, hand falling from his face and landing on his stomach. “I needed some air.”

Dean didn’t have a follow up question. His dark eyes were focused as he searched Jerry’s face for something, looking between his eyes and his mouth. Jerry felt small under his gaze. He wanted to hide, to turn away and make himself invisible, but he forced himself to hold his ground, to look Dean in the eyes and not to squirm.

He didn’t know what to do when suddenly Dean reached a hand towards him, but anticipation twisted low in his stomach.

It took him completely by surprise when Dean’s hand went to his face to brush the sand off his cheek. He should have known it was there from the way he’d been sleeping on his side, but he hadn’t even felt it. All he could feel now were the rough pads of Dean’s fingers as they moved back and forth across his skin.

That and the way his heart had jumped into his throat when his hand stilled, thumb up by his cheekbone and pointer finger resting gently against the shell of his ear.

“You know how long I’ve been out lookin’ for you?” The words were quiet and Jerry didn’t know what to make of the sudden softness in Dean’s tone. Jerry shook his head, pressing his lips together in a tight line. “Almost had to give one of your shirts to a police dog for a scent.”

It was just so like Dean to distract from anything serious with a joke and Jerry couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Put any of my shirts anywhere near a dog and you’re a dead man.”

Dean’s laugh rang in his ears. “You’re lucky this fella’s sniffer is better than a hound’s.”

“Probably would’ve been even quicker with your old one.”

“You wouldn’t have made it out the door.” Dean patted him on the cheek. “Come on. You oughta sleep in a real bed for a while.”

“But I’m comfy here.”

“Get un-comfy. We’re leaving.” He stood, brushing the sand off his hands and the back of his pants. When Jerry didn’t move to follow, Dean nudged his hip with his foot. “Let’s go. I ain’t carrying your ass two nights in a row.”

“How about carrying me now?”

“Not a shot, Shirley. I’m wiped.”

Jerry didn’t want to think too hard about that statement.

He just nodded.

Dean stretched his hand out and Jerry grabbed it to help pull him to his feet. He followed Dean back up the beach and onto the sidewalk, not stopping to dump the sand he could feel had piled uncomfortably in his shoes. They walked a short way down the boardwalk to get to the block with their hotel, the morning sun shining bright and easing the cold.

The walk was noticeably quiet. Every time Jerry chanced a peek at him, he saw that Dean’s gaze was trained forward, brow knitted tight. Jerry wouldn’t go so far as to say it was awkward. He and Dean could be a lot of things, but _awkward_ wasn’t one of them. He would venture to call it strained, at least on his end, because he had no idea what Dean was thinking. And he knew for a fact that Dean was thinking.

Anyone else might mistake his silence for indifference, but Jerry knew it meant the opposite. If Dean didn’t care, he would’ve been joking around by now. He didn’t like to dwell and would rather lighten the air than sit stiff over something silly all day. The fact that he was keeping to himself spoke volumes.

They still hadn’t spoken by the time they got all the way up to their room. Jerry took off his shoes, careful not to get sand on the floor, and lay back on his bed, watching as Dean went into his suitcase and pulled out a fresh set of clothes. When Dean put his clothes down on his bed to get his shampoo from a different bag, Jerry couldn’t help but look around them.

His eyes locked onto his messy sheets, strewn aside and crumpled.

He tried to convince himself that Dean had been restless and unable to sleep when he never showed up back at the room. Maybe Dean had tossed and turned all night until he finally decided to get up and look for him, not stopping to make the bed before he left.

Jerry rejected all likelihood of the other option.

Dean didn’t give him the chance to respond when he mumbled that he was going to take a shower, already halfway into the bathroom and closing the door behind him with a solid bang. He could hear the spray of the water as Dean turned on the shower and the metallic ring of him pulling back and then closing the curtain.

Jerry closed his eyes, but he wasn’t met with the darkness he wanted and cracked one eye open to see where the brightness was coming from.

A thin space between the blinds allowed a beam of sunlight to land on Dean’s side of the room, illuminating the rest of the tiny space. Jerry walked over and tried to close it, frowning when pulling the curtains closer only created a gap on either side that was somehow worse than what it had been before.

He sighed as he looked over one more time at Dean’s side, trying to assess how badly the sun was actually coming in when the light caught something gold on Dean’s nightstand. The sudden, bright flash in his eyes made him flinch, but his brow furrowed.

Dean hadn’t even unpacked, let alone gotten himself comfortable enough to have anything out on his nightstand.

Curiosity caught a hold of him and when he finished putting the curtains back to where they had been originally, he started over to where the flash had come from.

He wasn’t even halfway to it when he recognized what it was.

A gold-cased tube of lipstick.

His unsteady hand shook in the air as he reached for it. Slowly, he uncapped it and twisted the bottom, unsurprised, but disappointed at the color that came up.

_Bright red._

He stared at it for a long minute, contemplating his next step. Part of him thought about throwing it in the nearest trashcan. A different part thought about throwing it at a wall. The logical part of him told him to twist it down, put the cap on, and put it back on the nightstand. He decided it would be best to listen to that one, doing exactly as it said before the rash side of him did something he’d hate himself for later.

He crossed the short distance and crawled into his bed, not caring in the least that he was still in his dirty clothes. He buried his face in his pillow, hoping not only to block out the light, but what he’d just seen, as well.

However, not seeing the lipstick didn’t stop him from remembering it was there, nor from understanding what its presence meant.

It wasn’t long before sheer exhaustion washed over him and pulled him back into a thick sleep. So thick that he didn’t hear Dean finish up in the shower and leave the bathroom. Or notice how Dean walked over and pulled the covers up to his shoulders. Or feel the way Dean smoothed the messy hair down on the back of his head.

Jerry was already long gone, sleeping soundly.

Dreams filling his mind.

Dreams stained red.

**Author's Note:**

> I never write angst and really wanted to try some out, sooo this happened. I really hope you liked it!! Stay tuned for more coming at some point.
> 
> The title's inspired by Sinatra/Tommy Dorsey's version of "Too Romantic" if you want to give that a listen.
> 
> As always, i'm yelling over at holdenduckfield.tumblr.com


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